


for you to be here

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More tags to be added, Nazi mention, Romance, a few months later, alternate setting, as in the musical, author doesn't know much about skating, in the context of the sound of music, lots of google was involved, okay thats a tag good, post episode 12, yuuri and viktor love yurio really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 06:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9372632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Yuuri and Viktor travel to Moscow, so Yuuri can compete there alongside Yuri Plisetsky once more. things take a turn.title from 'for you to be here' by tom rosenthal. never really written fanfic before.





	

**Author's Note:**

> umm. I don't know anything about ice skating, I listened to a lot of tiny moving parts as I was writing this. it was going to just be a writing practice for my original fiction but then it got long and I liked it so here ya go I guess. correct me on any mistakes. x

Viktor sleeps on the train to Moscow, as he always does. His silvery hair is covered by a hood slightly too large, hiding his eyes from the bright lights of the train and from Yuuri, so the young skater can’t quite see when he’s sleeping and when he wakes. Yuuri himself can never quite sit still on trains, so he stays awake, getting up and stalking the aisles, and sprawling out and fidgeting when the train attendants send him back to his seat. He wouldn’t wake Viktor for the world, because he looks so pure when he sleeps that it’d be a sin to even try.

Outside, it’s snowing. Yuuri watches the unfamiliar landscapes rush by and wonders when they’ll be there. He’s never been to Moscow before, but Viktor talks about it as though it’s something from a dream. He’s talked about taking Yuuri out on the river, and showing him the _Krasnaya Ploshchad,_ the Red Square. He talks as though they’ll have time for everything, of course, even though they have a total of less than four days from the moment they arrive. Their train arrives at three-thirty, and they’re going straight to the rink so Yuuri can become accustomed to the space and get some final practice hours in before the short program the following day. Viktor has talked in length about the schedule, but Yuuri’s happy to just be hustled around, providing the other man is by his side at least most of the time.

Having him awake, of course, would be a bonus.

As things happen, Viktor doesn’t wake until Yuuri forces him to, shaking his shoulder gently as the train slows on its way to the platform. “C’mon… wake up. We’re here.”  
The older of the two sits up suddenly, hood falling back and revealing sleep-tousled hair and a smile. “We are? Perfect.”  
Yuuri just wonders how he can wake so easily, and seem as though he’s never been asleep at all.

They disembark hand in hand, each with just one bag containing their skates and other essentials. Viktor had their bags sent ahead from St Petersburg, to be waiting at the hotel when they arrive, so the only thing he has to worry about is keeping Yuuri close in the crowd of people exiting the train. He knows his _zvyozdochka_ gets nervous in new places, especially those so far from home. It’s his job to keep him feeling safe and calm.

They take a cab to the Exhibition Center, a short trip, during which Yuuri lays his head against Viktor in the backseat, and Viktor strokes his hair and speaks softly to the driver in lilting Russian that Yuuri still doesn’t understand. He needs to learn, if he’s going to be spending more time here. Perhaps on the train home, Viktor can teach him some more words. Right now, all he can do is pick out his own name and the words for ice and dogs and Japan, and perhaps Viktor is talking about Makkachin, but that’s all he really knows. He closes his eyes as the car moves through the busy streets, but doesn’t allow himself to sleep, because unlike his boyfriend, he won’t wake up so easily, and he needs to be on the ice and practising if he’s going to score highly in the short program.

Soon enough, he’s on the ice, warming up to a Tchaikovsky piece. Serenade in C Major; Viktor helped him choose it for his short program, and although he didn’t find it his style at first, the routine they choreographed together makes it work. And of course, he can skate anything with Viktor watching him, smiling from the edge of the rink, or skating along at his side as he warms up, like now. They’ve taken to doing it like this, leading each other, like a game of cat and mouse,   _kotyonok_ and _mysh, neko_ and _mausu._ Yuuri always laughs when he skates with Viktor, trying to keep up with his longer legs, and it’s like last year in Kyushu when he skated Viktor’s routine for Yuko but somehow better, so much better, with the man himself by his side. And it could go on forever, but of course it never will, because though Viktor loves him, he’s also his coach, and he wants to see him succeed tomorrow.

The Russian exits the ice and goes to restart the music. Yuuri takes his place on the ice, and begins to skate. Straight step sequence, camel spin, Ina Bauer. Triple Lutz, double axel combination. He over-rotates, but only a little. Quad loop, rocker turn, quadruple Salchow, double loop. They’ve skated this side by side in St Petersburg before. Spin combination, catch Viktor’s eye and smile (which is never part of the program but Yuuri always does it anyway). Another quad Salchow, followed by a triple axel, a Y-spiral into a spin, and end. Looking up and out, wherever that may be.

Viktor claps, beaming, and skates over. “Almost perfect. Show me the Lutz-axel combination again, closer, okay?”

And their practice continues like that. Viktor corrects Yuuri’s form and helps him up when he slips on a rough patch of the ice, kissing his cheek. They’re allotted three hours time alone, and when that’s over, they leave together, as always, passing up on dinner with some of the other skaters in favour of room service alone.

 

They start off sitting on the bed cross-legged and facing each other, food on their laps. Viktor, dressed in a faded blue shirt and little else, flicks around on the TV, looking for something in English so they can both understand, while Yuuri clutches a mug of hot tea. He decided when he got off the ice and started to cool off that he was cold, so he’s wearing one of Viktor’s sweaters, and he’s already whined about how Viktor looks effortlessly sleek and fashionable in it while it makes him “look like a marshmallow in a sock, Vitya, it’s not fair”. Viktor laughs and only says “a very adorable marshmallow, Yuuri,” and puts a blanket over his shoulders too. He finally finds an English movie channel, and it’s playing The Sound Of Music, barely fifteen minutes in. “You like musicals, don’t you?”  
“I’ve seen this one before,” Yuuri mumbles, sipping his tea.  
“So have I, for once.” Viktor smiles. 

They drift closer together as time goes on, the movie plays and they finish their food. Viktor returns the plates to the tray on the nightstand and sits back against the pillows, and by the time the Von Trapp children are singing at the Salzburg Festival, Yuuri is asleep, or at least nearly there, against his chest. Viktor smiles, kisses the top of his head, and takes the almost-empty mug of long-cold tea from his weak grasp. He sets it down on the tray and shifts lower in the bed, trying to avoid dislodging the younger man from where he seems so comfortable. The action of pulling the thick blankets over their bodies elicits a whine from Yuuri, but it’s a noise of satisfaction, not protest, and he only goes quiet again, and noses into Viktor’s chest. The Russian strokes his hair back from where it’s fallen into his eyes, and whispers a barely audible goodnight.

Yuuri hears, of course, and mumbles one back.

They’re both asleep before the Nazis come.

 

When Yuuri wakes, it’s to Viktor’s alarm and the sensation of his lover shifting beneath him to turn it off and get out of bed. He whines, and Viktor shushes him with a sleepy kiss to his cheek. “Come on, _zvezda moya_ . Time to wake up. It’s your first big day.” He moves out from beneath him, leaving Yuuri to curl up on his own beneath the blankets.  
“Vitya, _cold_ .” It’s his usual complaint on a morning, a ploy to keep Viktor in bed with him using the combination of a sad-sounding whisper and the equally loved and hated nickname from home. Yuuri had heard Yakov and Yurio using it back in St Petersburg, and adopted it as his own in a way that Viktor said “only Yuuri could”.  
Today, Viktor shakes his head and only sets the alarm to snooze. “Ten more minutes, Yuuri. I’m going to shower, wake up for me.” He kisses his head and leaves the bedroom. 

Yuuri sleeps for every single one of those ten minutes, fumbling to snooze the alarm and nearly dropping the phone when Viktor walks out of the bathroom near enough naked, a small towel looped around his waist for some semblance of modesty, since the sheer net curtains over the doors to the balcony probably don’t hide them from the outside world too much. The Russian pretends to ignore how, after all this time, Yuuri still turns pink right to the tips of his ears when he sees him sans clothes. “I told you wake up. Go on, we won’t have time to walk to the rink if you’re not careful.” He cups Yuuri’s cheek for a kiss, even though his damp hair sends a small cascade of water droplets down his boyfriend’s chest. “Go.”  
Yuuri touches Viktor’s bare chest gently. His hands are shaking - competition nerves, no doubt. Even for an event like this that bears no effect on the title race… he will still always have some fear of letting people down, whether that be Viktor, or his family, or Phichit, who isn’t competing here but promised to fly in and watch the skaters.

Perhaps it’s something to do with being back up against Yurio. His rival from last season is less of a rival now, perhaps even more of a friend. Living in Russia has brought them closer, perhaps purely over the fact that it’s hard to avoid one another, when they both play such important parts in Viktor’s life, and neither would sacrifice their relationship with the older skater over their rivalry. They can eat dinner together peacefully now, and the week before had even made it through a few of the Harry Potter films, before Yurio had fallen dead asleep across both Yuuri and Viktor’s laps. He’d never admit to it, but perhaps Yuuri had run his fingers through the blonde’s hair a few times, kept him asleep, not wanting the moment to end. There was no use in being unkind to one another, and the two had realised that at some point between the Grand Prix Final and now.

Besides, Yurio was missing Otabek, if his social media was anything to go by.

The hot shower water seems to take the thoughts away from Yuuri as it rinses the sleep from his muscles and the fog from his mind. He’s still a little scared, but things will be fine. Perhaps he can even win today, if he really goes for it, even against Yurio. He washes his hair and body with hotel soap, brushes his teeth in the shower and stands in the spray until it starts to run cold. When he steps out, he doesn’t quite dare to do the same as Viktor, but he wraps one of the soft towels from the heated rail around himself, and wanders back out into the bedroom to find clothes. His costume for the contest is sitting on top of his skates bag, but his day clothes are laid out at the foot of the bed. “I’m not a child, Vitya,” he scolds softly, but Viktor is not listening, or at least pretending not to listen, combing his hair in front of the mirror and using wax to fix it into place, so Yuuri caves and puts on the clothes that have been chosen for him. They’re all his own now, soft and warm and smelling faintly of home. There’s a couple of brown hairs attached to the end of the scarf - Makkachin. He plucks them off gently and puts them in his pocket. Perhaps they’ll bring him luck.

Viktor turns around with a smile. “Perfect. Every inch the professional,” he murmurs, teasing only slightly, brushing off invisible dust from Yuuri’s shoulder and pulling him in for a gentle kiss. “Win for me today,” he whispers, and it’s one of those moments where Yuuri feels the world dissolve around him, when he and Viktor are the only people to exist, for the precious few seconds before Viktor pulls away and gets his long coat from the chair where he left it the night before. “Get your things, _zvyozdochka_. Time to go. We can pick up breakfast on the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> italicized Russian terms - zvyozdochka (little star), zvezda moya (my star). let me know what you thought!


End file.
